


a shifting sense of control

by beanplague but sexy (beanplague)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Biting, Choking, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Fluff and Humor, Kink Negotiation, Marking, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spit Kink, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:48:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23464963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanplague/pseuds/beanplague%20but%20sexy
Summary: “Good,” she replies. “I want you to say whatever it is you want to say, and do whatever it is you want to do. Not just because you want to do them, but because I told you to. Are we clear?”Daisy swallows. “Yeah.”
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner
Comments: 8
Kudos: 101





	a shifting sense of control

**Author's Note:**

> want to be clear before you jump into this fic hoping to jerk off to it or what have you that this is not much of a serious erotica or whatever. it is unquestionably porn but also has moments of humor/awkwardness in between, as sex does.

“Let’s talk about boundaries,” says Basira.

Daisy is sitting on the edge of the bed, looking like she’s halfway caught between shame and confusion and undeniably powerful arousal. Basira stands in front of her, almost business-like in her approach to this undeniably weird situation. Here they are, both in their work clothes, discussing terms and conditions to the idea of having sex. They’ve done it before, but now it needs _rules,_ because Daisy just can’t help herself; not with Basira or anyone. The taste of blood is in her mouth (always) and it taints every facet of her want. And God, Daisy _wants._

“I want you to fuck me,” says Basira. “And I want you to enjoy yourself; and for that to work I need you to tell me what makes you enjoy yourself, you understand?”

“I—” Daisy stumbles. She can’t figure out her way around the words. “I _know_ that, but what if I say something off? What then? And I don’t know _what_ I want, half the time. How am I supposed to? The things I want are—” Basira is looking at her with this calculating sort of look.

“You know what you want,” she says. “You just don’t want to tell me, because you think that I’ll—well, I don’t know what you think, really. That I’ll be scared?”

“No. It’s not that I want anything _scary,_ I just—” Daisy makes that noise, partway between a groan and a sigh. “I just want things that are… I don’t know. You can figure it out. I want to—to hurt you, sometimes. Or, that’s a bad way to say it. I just—you see what I mean? I keep wanting to—to _say_ things and _do_ things that are…” she trails off.

“Transgressive?”

“Yeah, whatever that’s supposed to mean. Yeah.”

“Well,” says Basira, “I’m not going to be able to help you with any of those things you want if you don’t _tell_ me about them, so tell me.”

“I.” Daisy stops. Basira is asking her. She is not telling Basira, she is not imposing upon Basira, she is not biting into her or clawing against her back or making a mark of possession upon her. She isn’t doing any of these things. She is being asked.

And so she tells Basira.

Marking, generally, is right up her alley. To bite—only occasionally hard enough to leave a mark or draw blood—or scratch or really anything in that vein, sometimes just to say things that _mean_ possession, can be wonderful. To communicate that Basira is _her’s,_ to have, to protect, to fuck, is sometimes all that Daisy wants. And then there’s the anticipation. To wait, to feel like she’s hunting for something, and to claim Basira as her own and get a taste of her. The thought is nice. Wholesome, even, in a very unwholesome way. She wants to fuck her like an animal, to do whatever she wants, and to have Basira enjoy it.

And then, sometimes, she sort of just wants to feel in control.

At that, Basira says: “Oh, I get that.”

“Do you want to elaborate?”

“It’s nothing important. I just get it. I get all of this,” she shrugs. “It’s not totally weird, and the way you talk about it. Well, I’m sort of into it.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” says Basira, and then something shifts. She reaches out and lifts Daisy’s chin, inspecting her face. “Let’s talk about my part. I want all of these things—want to _try_ all of them, at least, but we need to talk about the rules, here.”

Daisy nods, suddenly feeling… odd. In a good way, but also in that sort of way where. Well. It’s hard to explain. That way she feels whenever Basira’s tone shifts a certain way, and her scrutinizing gaze can be felt with such intensity that Daisy has a hard time feeling anything else. Focusing on anything else.

Watched.

Basira says, “I get to back out whenever I want.”

“Of course. That’s not even a question.”

“Good,” she replies. “I want you to say whatever it is you want to say, and do whatever it is you want to do. Not just because you want to do them, but because I _told_ you to. Are we clear?”

Daisy swallows. “Yeah.”

“Well then,” says Basira, “that’s just about all I wanted to cover—is there anything else you wanted to add?”

Daisy blinks. Tries to sort out that space between her reasonable thoughts and her fantasies, before giving up and conceding. “I just want to fuck you,” she says. “I can’t think about anything else, right now.”

Basira smiles at that. Somehow, Daisy feels both in control and totally out of her depth.

* * *

Basira’s body is—

“So beautiful,” Daisy says, pulling off her own shirt and looking over Basira, lying naked on the bed, presented like a gift. An offering. “You’re so beautiful, do you know that? You make me want to—” she stops.

“Make you want to— _what?”_ Basira picks up, eyebrows raised and tone clipped. “The agreement is that you do and say what you want, right? What do you want, Daisy?”

“I want.” Daisy looks over Basira. Her skin, dark and smooth and perfectly unmarked. “I want to make you _mine._ I want you to come for me, and I want to fucking—I want to fucking _ruin_ you.”

Basira doesn’t say anything—not yet—instead, she wordlessly sits herself up, pulling her partner into a deep kiss. Her arms wrap around Daisy’s shoulders, at first, before her hands reach upwards, fingers threading themselves into blonde hair. Her grip is confident, almost harsh. And Daisy isn’t prepared for the moment when Basira pulls away from the kiss and then tugs Daisy’s hair back, sharp. “Do it, then,” she says, her voice a challenge. Daisy feels lightheaded for just a moment before she gets herself together—just barely—and _pounces._

To say that she pulls Basira into a kiss isn’t quite accurate, because there is no pull here. Daisy is pushing headfirst, kissing forcefully and intensely. Her tongue makes an appearance, parting Basira’s lips and exploring her mouth, lightly biting her bottom lip before pulling back. “I’m going to fuck you so hard. I’m going to make you scream my name,” and for a moment, Daisy feels confident that she can do this without doubting herself. That she can indulge in Basira without a moment of hesitation.

“I want you to spit in my mouth.”

That is, until Basira counters with something that Daisy has no words to respond with.

“I—pardon?”

“Oh, sorry, is that not something you’re into?”

“I. No. I mean, it’s not something I’m _not_ into—” Daisy blinks, scratching the back of her neck awkwardly. “I just wasn’t expecting you to say… _that_ I guess. I mean, wow.”

“Sorry, I was getting kind of into it, Basira says. Quietly, she chuckles a bit, and Daisy makes the executive decision to focus on that.

“What? What are you laughing about?”

“I just. I think it’s sort of funny. When you came to me about all of this—about wanting things like this—you were all broody about it. Like you were never going to recover from wanting to fuck me rough, and that I couldn’t possibly understand you,” says Basira. “And then I suggest a little spit in the mouth, and now you’re all red.”

“I am?” She is. Daisy abruptly realizes just how hot her face is.

“It’s cute. I think it’s very cute, that you think you’re so… dangerous, I guess.” Say what you will about Basira, but she doesn’t dance around her words. That’s part of what Daisy likes about her. She’s straightforward. There are no questions about their interactions.

“I _am_ dangerous,” Daisy says.

“Oh sure, like a big dog,” Basira replies. Again, there’s that shift. The edge is on her side, now. “I just like to think I have you particularly well trained.”

Fuck.

Daisy kisses her again, slower this time. Intent. There’s a method about this, and Daisy just needs to find it. That’s the thrill of the hunt, really. The slow, methodical way you go about it before getting that adrenaline rush. There is no time wasted, sure, but there is also no race to win. She pulls back again, threading her hands in Basira’s hair, getting a look at her face. “You want me to spit in your mouth?”

“Do _you_ want to do that?”

_Pull._ Basira takes in a sharp breath, lets out a soft noise that appeals to this solid, controlling thing that has anchored itself inside of Daisy. “Say it,” she says.

“I want you to—to spit in my mouth,” says Basira, breathless.

Daisy spits, watching the line of saliva fall into her parted lips. “Is that good? Is that what you like?”

_“Yes.”_

So good. Daisy almost loses her cool—almost forgets that she’s allowed to be serious in this situation, to say whatever she likes and do whatever she pleases, to be totally confident in that—just watching Basira. Seeing the anticipation on her face. “Tell me that you’re mine,” she says.

“You’ll have to make me yours, first.”

“Fuck, you always say so much. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t speak.” Daisy kisses her neck, softly at first, before abruptly finding the right space and _biting,_ letting a hand roam downwards to feel between her thighs. “You are so wet,” she murmurs.

The thing about Basira is that, once you get her going, the noises she makes are soft and understated. Very cute, at first, until she gets _really_ close, and then it’s a deep line of expletives and demands. She isn’t incredibly sensitive, which is good—Daisy is not a gentle person, never has been, even before all of… _this_ —but her body is responsive. She grinds against Daisy’s hand, meeting her eyes with great intensity.

“Fuck me,” she says. “Stop waiting and fuck me.”

It’s _really_ nice to get her to talk like that. Daisy slides her fingers between Basira’s folds, stroking up to her clit before dipping back down, stilling herself. “What is it that you want?”

“Don’t make me—”

“No, say it,” Daisy says. “Say, ‘Daisy, I want you to fuck me.’” She pauses, before adding. “You can also add things, if you like. I’d like it if you added something.”

“You are so ridiculous,” Basira says, just a hint of laughter in her voice, before returning to the moment. “I want you to fuck me, Daisy,” she says. “I want you to fuck me until I can’t think about anything else. I want you to make me come for you. Want you to fucking—” Basira is abruptly cut off by her own moaning as Daisy slips her fingers inside, taking a moment to find the right spot. “Want you to make me fucking _yours_ —bite me again. _Ruin me_ like you said you wanted to. _Fuck._ ”

“Well, if you ask so kindly.”

Daisy feels drunk on this sort of feeling, like she can do anything to Basira and be eagerly reciprocated. The feeling of taking her skin between the teeth and leaving her mark behind is like nothing else, and every time she does it (and she must admit, looking at the emergent evidence, that it might be a bit excessive) she gets back these urgent commands for more.

“You’re so fucking desperate,” she says, curving her fingers to hit the right spot. Basira jerks, biting back what seems to be a loud moan. “Let me know when you get close. Tell me what to do to get you close.”

“Choke me.”

Oh.

“Really?”

“Yeah, with your other hand. I— _fuck_ —I’ll show you how you’re supposed to do it.” Basira says.

“You’re really pulling out all the stops with this one, huh?”

“Yeah, this is all part of my intricate plot for getting you to indulge in _my_ weird kinks. Bet you never considered that.” Basira is joking. Probably. Daisy lets her demonstrate the right way to position the hand around her neck. “You have to get the airways on the side—don’t lean forward too much. I’ll tap your arm twice if I want you to stop, okay?”

“Okay,” says Daisy. Right. Carefully, she checks the position of her fingers and her palm, and then she squeezes. “That’s good?”

_“Yes,”_ says Basira. “Fuck, yes. Now just. Do what you were doing before, with your fingers.”

Daisy starts up again, trying to find that same rhythm that she had before, looking down at Basira beneath her. It’s sort of an awkward position, really, but it’s nice. _Real_ nice, just to see her like this. So desperate and so fucking _beautiful._ She always is, but the darkening red bite marks suit her nicely, and the feeling of her neck and throat—her breathing, slower and more labored, now—beneath Daisy’s hands is just one more beautiful thing on top of everything else. Daisy fucks into her harder and faster, watching the subtle changes on her face. Her eyes shut tightly before opening wide as she belts out a trail of curses and _fuck, oh fuck, Daisy, don’t stop. I’m going to fucking come. Fuck. Fuck. Oh my fucking_ —and then the _moaning._ Music to the ears, really.

When they’ve finished, and Basira has ridden out the last of her orgasm, Daisy pulls her fingers out and lies beside her on the bed. Basira turns to face her, breathing heavily, a satisfied look on her face.

“Are you good?” asks Daisy.

“Are you kidding?” she replies. “I’m fucking _great,_ Daisy. That was so good. You were so good.”

Daisy smiles, and then she stops. Things are… weird, now. This is weird. Getting used to this feeling of making Basira feel good by doing all of these things that make Daisy feel… she doesn’t know… in control? Powerful? Like a hunter, marking its prey.

“Hey,” says Basira, pulling Daisy close to her. “Whatever you’re thinking, it isn’t true. I had fun, and I had fun _because_ of you. Because we did this, you understand? I suggested half of the things that gave you pause, anyway.”

“True,” mumbles Daisy. Basira’s hands are in her hair again. This time, she cards through it gently and absentmindedly. It’s soothing.

“I love you, you know.”

When either of them say _I love you_ —and they don’t say it often; it doesn’t need to be said, most of the time—it means something. When Basira says these things, they mean something. Daisy leans into her. “I love you, too,” she says.

They lie like that for a moment longer, before Basira says, “You’ve _really_ never choked anyone before? I find that hard to believe.”

“I—what, really? How many women are just walking around London begging to be choked, for that to be a surprise? I haven’t encountered any.”

“That’s impossible. I don’t believe that,” she says. “I mean, it’s just a very common thing. I feel like I’ve met several people who have been very into the same thing.”

“Well, I just tried it today for the first time and it was nice. Maybe I’ve been into it the whole time and I’ve never known.”

“You’ve got to try being on the other side of it, one day. Very fun, I’d give it favorable reviews. Maybe we can try it tonight, if you feel up to it.”

“Mm, let’s lay like this for a bit,” says Daisy. She can’t help but smile. “And then when I’m ready, you can get our stuff out of the drawer.”

“How fun.”

**Author's Note:**

> originally this was going to be an uncharacteristically serious piece of porn from me but i am allergic to taking this sort of thing seriously and i find people who can WILD. we're all just out here getting spit in our mouths and whatnot; time to have a little laugh about it. one day i'll write some porn where they actually take themselves seriously but today is not that day.
> 
> but anyway i'm super into service topping, but more than that just the idea of a sub/dom dynamic where it's abundantly clear that the submissive in that situation has all the power over it, and that they're more in charge than the dominant. this is my disorder.


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